An Autumn Evening

In the brightness of autumn evenings
there is a touching, mysterious charm:
an ominous glitter, motley trees,
a light, languorous rustle of scarlet leaves,
a hazy, quiet blueness
across the sadly orphaned world
and, presaging gathering storms,
at times a gusty snap of wind.
Loss. Exhaustion. And on it all
there is that gentle smile of fading
which, in a thinking creature, we should call
the divine shame of suffering.

Fyodor Tyutchev, Translated by F. Jude


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